Teardrop on the fire
by NGBlue
Summary: What if Simone Doffler is only the beginning? comic book season 8 knowledge is recommended before attempting to read this Also warning: Semi-graphic violence. This fic is dark, insanely dark.


I know this is dark, I also don't know if it's actually readable, if it makes much sense at all. But anyhow, enjoy it anyways. Also, the title I ripped from Massive Attack, I couldn't come up with one myself.

Kindly provide some feedback :)

-x-x-x-

_Teardrop on the fire, fearless on my breath._

_Massive Attack_

-x-x-x-

You still see her at night, in your dreams.

But it blurs, everything does these days...

Her face, the look in her eyes. Of terror, of desperation, of shock. Of everything and nothing. A sick kind of control you held over her for just a moment. A stolen split second of time. It washed away, like everything does these days.

But you realize it would've been better, if you held her down longer. If oxygen had became an issue, and she had finally been forced to open her mouth. It would've been better if she had drowned. At least then the blame could've been stuck on you. It would've been easier. But it wouldn't have prevented anything.

At the same time, you believe it's a good thing she's not here. That she can't see that the decisions you have all made turned around on you so horribly. She couldn't have known back then. Maybe she didn't even know when they ambushed her.

It's just images anyways. But you feel that in death, you understand her better than you ever understood her in life.

You watch the cigarette burn, without taking another drag. The first was fine. You did quit a long time ago anyways. The heat burns your flesh, but you don't feel it anymore anyhow. You're numb, from the outside as well as the inside. The ashes fly away. Into the night, unto the streets below.

Everything burns these days...

She was the first to fall. It was only logical when you think about it. It had been brewing, festering, underneath it all. Images, but they make your stomach churn anyways.

It had been a trap. Herself, her body. Giles found her. It made sense, in a way. You were the second most experienced slayer after all, and you were back on the right track. It stings when you think about it, but everything stings these days.

Your eyes are bloodshot. You haven't slept for days. But you still dream. Or maybe it's just the insanity creeping up on you. You can feel them though. The noise they make, their imminent arrival. But you no longer care, you're done running.

They had cut her up. Probably tortured her for a while. Her face was unrecognizable. Her left arm was gone. They strung her up, in the middle of your office. Giles didn't know, but you did. You felt it from the very start. And you felt nothing..and everything at once.

You'd go for them, if they hadn't gone for you first. It was just a distraction. Like everything had been. Willow had vanished, and that was before contact with Kennedy and the others had been lost. You can't even imagine what might've happened with Xander and Dawn.

He'd been shell-shocked. But it had only lasted a second. Just a moment. Order turned into chaos. Like everything had these days...

They gutted him in front of your very eyes, before you could do a thing. The blood spilled. His intestines dropping out with a sickening sound, as they held him upright. You couldn't do anything. Only watch. Watch in horror as his eyes tried to convey their last message to you.

To run, to hide.

You didn't understand at the time how futile this was. How futile everything was.

It all ends here. This roof. You believe there's some sick sense of irony in that.

You have no idea what happened those last moments. If she had begged for mercy, begged for her life. Or if she had just let it wash over her. You can't help wonder if she had felt the same as you do now. This sense of futility. This sense of failure.

Everything burns all around you. The cigarette is gone. But there's still smoke, there's still ashes. Everything burns, even within.

You know they are close. They always are. But you're just tired of running. Tired of playing games.

For a while, you put your hope in the witch. But she never returned. Maybe it's a good thing she hasn't.

A few days ago you saw Kennedy's corpse being dragged through the streets. Or what was left of it.

They take out order, until all that is left is chaos. You understand it now, maybe better then you've ever understood it. And that's why you won't give them the satisfaction.

That's why, you jump as soon as they get too close. You can hear the shouts, can hear the shots being fired as you fall. Only one bullet grazes you, and you smile. A sardonic smile, the dimples in your hollow cheeks making their appearance one last time.

It's freedom. For just these few seconds. But no life rushing by. No images, except for her. The last ones you remember. Her accusatory glare, her wet hair. Messed up images, but you cherish them anyways, because it's all you have left of her. Less then you've always wanted of her.

You fall. It's freedom, just a grain of it. Because you know there's darkness that awaits you a few seconds later.

But for once in your life you actually embrace it.

It's the last thing you'll ever see.


End file.
